


(we wait for) the afterglow

by meritmut



Category: Sunshine (2007)
Genre: F/M, no one requested tender space sex for the minific meme but it's happening anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meritmut/pseuds/meritmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Do you dream of it,</em> he continues, <em>of flying?</em></p><p><em>I dream of falling,</em> she corrects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(we wait for) the afterglow

His hands are gentle, like the rest of him; they trace patterns on the flat of her back and when she stays still long enough to decipher numbers she wonders if they’re equations, blueprints for the stellar bomb, if you could shatter worlds with the things he presses into her skin. He wrote out a whole chunk of nonsense on her forearm once and she remembers another time - before this was _this_ and there was only an unspoken, undemanding kind of comfort to be found in two people reminding each other how to be warm - when she'd showed him the new trajectory she and Trey'd worked out by marking it on the soft plane of his belly with her index finger.

On her birthday, he kneels between her thighs and makes her swear and sigh, mouthing the activation sequence to his precious payload against her until she keens.

(On his, he puts his head in her lap and plays with the hem of her shirt and says almost nothing, and she lets him, glad of the stillness that wraps around them in this microscopic corner of the universe.)

He slides his palm over her abdomen and one lazy fingertip sketches the orbit of Venus around her navel. They passed it last week, engaged with its gravity to borrow momentum and left it behind within two days; she’d found him in the observation deck late on the second, lost in thought until she sank her knuckles into his hair and pulled him back.

 _What’s in your head?_ he asks, and Cassie drifts for a moment in the darkness of his eyes. She says nothing until Venus slips smoothly out of orbit and, bearing low, settles into a new pattern, one of small and insistent circles, and her head falls back into the bunk as her hips rise toward his hand and he watches, studies, stores away for later the way her body shifts and curves into his touch, the way her bared throat and the race of her pulse under her flushing skin look against his sheets.

 _Flight, flying,_ she chokes out when he pauses, and, _fuck, Capa,_ and his low laughter hums against her hipbone as he mouths at her, unhurried and affectionate. _Do you dream of it?_ he continues, _of flying?_

 _I dream of falling,_ she corrects, and then her awareness narrows to a single white-hot point of light and she is, _falling,_ the gravitational inevitability of climax tugging her back into orbit and he doesn’t relent until she’s done, sated, flat-out and grinning as she pulls him up to cover her, dropping his forehead to the bend of her shoulder when she pushes her free hand down between them and guides him over like a comet in her wake.


End file.
